I'm Baking My Feelings
by Punzie the Platypus
Summary: When Ben can't find Mal one night, Evie points him to the school kitchens. He finds a troubled Mal making cookies. "Do you know why I bake, Ben? It's because she never did. It's because my own mother never made cookies for me, or took care of me, or kissed me goodnight. She didn't act like a mother; she acted like she wanted a mini her." So Ben makes the cookies for Mal.


**_Soli Deo gloria_**

 **DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Descendants.**

 **Can we just talk about how LIT Descendants 2 was, y'all? Like, it was great. Really well done.**

When Ben couldn't find Mal, he didn't panic. Completely.

Which was good. Last time she'd gone missing, he was stunned into horrified silence by Evie telling him that she'd run back to the Isle.

No, he knew his girlfriend was somewhere 'round campus. He'd just excused himself from an important international relations meeting and met up with Evie, Carlos, Jane, Jay, Lonnie, and even Chad for a study group in the library. He thought it peculiar Mal didn't join them, but Evie put a hand on his and said, "She's not here tonight. She needed to be alone for a little while. It's okay, though. She just needs some time to herself."

While she meant it as a reassurance, Ben couldn't help his mind being filled with worried, concerned thoughts instead of notes about the different effects of goodness on people. Evie recognized this and made off-hand excuses for him, easy as could be, to allow him to escape early. He squeezed her shoulder as a thanks and ran out into the cool air.

Auradon Prep's campus screamed color, especially since it was fall. Moonlight illuminated the richly colored leaves, on trees and off; mix those with the brightly colored buildings and trimmed landscapes and you could go color-blind during the daytime. Ben didn't care about the other students walking in talkative pairs to and from the study hall and dorms. He cast his eyes everywhere, ignoring the colors under the moonlight and wondering where Mal could be. Alone? Somewhere secluded. Not on the Isle. Okay, that limited his options.

"Mal?" He knocked on her and Evie's dorm door. He received no answer, but tested the knob anyway. It was unlocked; whatever little hope rose in his heart disappeared when a quick peek told him that the room was empty.

 _I'm not worried. I'm not worried. No, not at all._ Or so he kept telling himself as he raced down to the gazebo they liked to spend lazy afternoons in. Huh. No sign of bright purple hair or a devilishly brilliant smile. Where was she?

His cellphone vibrated. Oh, yeah. He forgot about that. He could just, you know, text her?

The text was from Evie. 'Check the kitchens, Ben. She likes baking.'

"Huh. Baking?" It was, what, nine at night? The school kitchens? Well, Evie was her BFF, and BFFs knew well, and knew best.

He crept up to the kitchens. He felt particularly sneaky—Evie, Jay, and Carlos would be particularly proud. You know, hopefully.

He cracked the door open and heard Mal say, "Hey, Ben."

A look inside told him everything he needed to know. The school kitchen was brightly lit; on a counter was a spread of spilled flour and a metal bowl full of cookie dough. Several measuring cups and containers full of assorted ingredients littered the rest of the space. And Mal's back was to him.

"How'd you know it was me?" he wondered.

Mal smirked over her shoulder. "Could it have been anyone else? Also, Evie texted me that you were looking for me. I knew she couldn't let you run all over campus all night."

"Well, maybe she would've. She's got a little evil in her," Ben bantered, coming up to her side.

Mal bobbed her head and he nodded to the wooden spoon in her hand. "Whatcha makin'?" he inquired casually.

"Working on my baking skills. I don't have a spell book anymore, and I've got you addicted to homemade baked goods every other day now. I can't let you down." Mal held the bowl in her arms like a baby, stirring. "Hopefully these non-magical treats actually taste good. I've been experimenting."

"You're not saying that all the flavor came from the spells, right?" Ben's smile faltered when Mal bobbed her head again. "Oh."

"I'm kidding. All right? I'm kidding." Mal grinned and bumped his shoulder. Ben breathed with relief. It was quiet for a few moments, Mal calmly stirring her cookie dough and staring into it like her thoughts were somewhere else entirely.

Ben quietly snuck his arm around her shoulder so his hand was over the hand gripping the spoon. "What's on your mind, Mal?" he asked softly.

Mal sighed, but stirred faster, like she had renewed enthusiasm about it. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

"Mal, I can tell it's bothering you. And I love you, Mal. You know if there's anything bothering you, I want to help you."

"This isn't something you can fix. It's my problem, and—" Mal bristled, not meeting his eyes. "It shouldn't even be a problem."

"Mal, even if I can't fix it, tell me about it. Let me help you the best I can. It maybe won't fix the entire problem, but . . . maybe. . ." Ben shrugged. He took the bowl in his own hand and Mal froze as he put it on the counter. "Please, Mal. Let me in. What's happened?"

"It's just . . ." Mal sighed, but continued. She knew the sincerity shining in his eyes was sure and true. "It's been exactly a year since we left the Isle. Exactly one year since this crazy journey started."

"Wow. It has. We should've celebrated or something." Ben's smile disappeared when he noticed the marked worry clouding Mal's face still. "What's wrong with that, Mal?"

"It's stupid."

"No, no, it's not. Tell me, Mal."

"Well," she sighed, "I may have been invited here by you, but I was sent here by my mother—she trusted me to do something. And I didn't do it. Which was good—but, like, all my life, all I ever wanted to do was to make my mother proud. To make her happy and be glad I was her daughter. For her to love me, I guess. So now I have this fantastic new life—and you—and yet, for all this new happiness, I don't have the one thing I wished for all my life."

"Your mother's love," Ben said softly.

Mal dropped his eyes. "Yeah. _That._ " She sighed and blew a raspberry as she gave undue attention to her cookie dough, like it was the most interesting thing in the entire universe.

"Mal, that isn't a bad thing to want. It's the most natural thing to want!"

"Yeah, the love of the most evil of all the villains of the Isle. _Very_ natural."

"Mal, she's your mother! Of course you want the love of your mother! If I didn't have the love of my parents, I wouldn't know what to do!"

"Well, you have them, so you don't have to worry about it."

She turned away, her sarcasm too sharp, like putting up a front was easier than being vulnerable. Ben put a hand on her shoulder and she slipped out from under him.

"Mal," he said, struggling for the right words. All he was trying to do was relate to her, to put himself in her shoes, but that just made the situation about him, and like he needed to do that. This was about _her_. What could he do to help her?

Mal stirred the dough with an iron will. They'd be tough old cookies but who cared?

"Do you know why I bake, Ben?" Mal suddenly burst out.

Ben didn't trust his voice, so he just shook his head.

"It's because she never did. It's because my own mother never made cookies for me, or took care of me, or kissed me goodnight. She didn't _act_ like a mother; she acted like she wanted a mini _her_. So I tried to _be_ her, because I thought that that would make her happy. She never tried to make me happy." Mal sniffed as she dropped the spoon. She said, after a moment, "If she ever made me cookies, I would've died of happiness." Her chin trembled and she sat down abruptly on a barstool next to another counter.

Ben stepped up. Should he hug her, say something . . . what?

He knew what to do. It was neither of those things.

He walked past her and started to open random cupboards, evidently searching for something specific. He hadn't seen it on the counter, so he assumed that she hadn't gotten it out yet.

Mal slowed the hitching in her chest and focused on her boyfriend's head disappearing into random parts of the kitchen. Suddenly he went "HA!" and retrieved a half-empty sealed bag. He brought the cookie dough bowl close and said, "Measuring isn't important when it comes to cooking, right?"

Mal watched with a little twinge of amusement as he dumped all the chocolate chips that bag contained into her bowl. "It's important when it comes to _baking_. But, whatever." She watched her boyfriend mix in the chocolate chips with some zeal. Watched him drop uneven spoonfuls of dough onto cookie sheets he'd oversprayed with cooking spray and put them into her preheated oven. Watched him jump onto a seat next to her with the wooden spoon covered in chocolate studded dough.

"Want a lick?" he said, offering her the spoon.

She hid a smile and took the spoon. "Oh, that's good dough. I'm an all-right baker," she said through a full mouth.

Ben put a hand on his stomach and sighed. "I can confirm that fact."

"No," she said, sitting up and leaning against his shoulder, " _we_ are all-right bakers."

Ben took her hand. "I'll bake you cookies everyday if it'll make you happy. Because I love you, and I never want you to doubt that. You might not have the love of your mother, but you have the love of _me_. Is that an all-right substitute?"

Mal's luminous eyes met his bright ones. She squeezed his hand. "More than just _all-right_. _Better._ "

Ben smiled. "Mal, are you happy?"

With her boyfriend at her side,—ready to do anything and everything to make her happy, because he loved her—this new life with her best friends, and the smell of chocolate chip cookies in the air, could her answer be anything but "Yes, Ben, I'm _very_ happy"?

 **Ben/Mal being adorable. D'AWWWWWW.**

 **Thanks for reading! Review?**


End file.
